


I Have Yet To Decide

by xikra1648



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry John Watson, Angry Reader, Complicated Relationship With Sherlock, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, F/M, Humor, John's Mustache, Mary Morstan/Reader Friendship, Romance, Sherlock Being Sherlock, assassin reader, mentions of past sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 12:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11783196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xikra1648/pseuds/xikra1648
Summary: You had been hired to keep an eye on Sherlock and keep him safe, payment for Mycroft keeping the government off your back considering the multitude of crimes you had committed.  Your friend was just as effective, but you had a grace and, frankly, cleverness about you that would better serve his purposes.  Sherlock knew exactly what his brother was up to, but hadn't expected you were willing to feed Mycroft only information Sherlock was willing to share.  It wasn't long until he decided he liked you.Now he was back after two long years tearing down Moriarty's network.  How could you not be happy to see him?





	I Have Yet To Decide

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I don't know. I don't know, I don't know, I wish I knew but I don't.

# I Have Yet To Decide

Your friendship with Mary was nothing but exciting.  You weren’t partners in crime, you had started in wildly unusual places and had entirely different methods, but you were just as deadly and the two of you would work together when it was prudent.  That was how you ended up in London, as your friend decided it was time to retire and life a normal life.  You were there to protect her, but you had yet to retire.

“Very interesting file, you and your friend, though I find myself more intrigued by your methods.  Far more deft and elegant than rushing in and shooting,” Mycroft tossed your file onto his desk and watched you carefully as you sat in one of the wooden chairs lined in soft brown leather across from him.

“What’s your point?” you asked, an English accent so practiced it was now natural despite the fact you weren’t born or even raised in England.

“I have need of your talents, you and your friend have need of safety in England.  Normally I wouldn’t be so generous, but I could always place one simple call and have every enemy the two of you have made upon you in a matter of minutes.”

The smug git did have the upper hand, for now, but it would be a good idea to take the deal.

For now, at least.

 

A babysitter.  You were a _bloody babysitter!_

Mycroft’s little brother got himself in so much trouble on such a constant basis the only way to keep him safe was to take a highly-trained assassin, hand her government clearances, and literally _pay_ her to watch Sherlock.  You were spotted seconds after you introduced yourself, though Sherlock had the sense of mind to wait until John had left the room.  You came to a deal, you would keep him alive and only report to Mycroft what you were told to, and he wouldn’t chase you off and make you find a new job.

That all came to an abrupt halt when Sherlock threw himself off the roof of St. Bart’s.  You turned to different work, civilian work when Mycroft didn’t need you, and introduced John and Mary.  John begged you to help him pick out a ring and set up the night he was going to propose.  You made your own reservations, paying off a few people to let you have a table close enough to snap a picture of the proposal with your cell.  You couldn’t exactly go alone, but picking up a date was easy enough once you said you’d be paying.

Your date, a doctor or lawyer or something, was talking about his latest case, some sick orphan or a burned down homeless shelter you really weren’t listening, as you kept an eye on John and Mary’s table.  Your hair was elegantly teased and curled loosely, your eyes lined in elegant shades of black, and your black backless, elbow-length sleeved dress, with the front of the dress reaching your knees and the back reaching the middle of your calves, was looking lovely matched with your black heels, and the elegant silver jewelry you had chosen for the night.

You overheard a French accent that was… _odd_ to say the least and looked up to see…

“Oh my god…” you gaped as you stared at Sherlock’s disguise.  It seemed John had just looked up to see Sherlock.  Everything around you went mute and slowed down as you watched the scene in front of you.  Sherlock was alive.  You’d spent two years mourning the death of a close friend, arguably more if you spoke to Mary and John, and just barely… _sort of_ moved on.

The daze stopped when John launched himself at Sherlock to kill him.  You launched yourself out of your seat, pulling John off of Sherlock and standing between the two.  It was impressive, the fact you were able to wrestle John whilst dressed in your dress and heels, but the fact that there was only one strand of hair out of place was even more impressive.

You and Mary discussed where to meet next before taking separate cabs, herself and John in one and you took Sherlock in the other.  After giving the cabbie your destination and getting in the back seat you had hoped for silence.  You should have known better.

“Your date wasn’t going well,” Sherlock pointed out.

“It wasn’t a date, I just didn’t want to catch attention by being the only one sitting alone at The Landmark,” you explained, “I knew John was planning on proposing and I thought it would be nice if there was a picture.”

“Awfully sentimental of you, though you did go out of your way to try to find a date worth your time.  You never would have bought a new dress or struggled with your hair if you hadn’t,” Sherlock observed, looking you over as you watched the streets of London pass by as the cabbie drove, “He wasn’t exciting enough, I take it.”

“That is, generally, the issue.  Lucky for me I was looking for a disguise and _maybe_ a half-decent shag at his flat before I took off.”

“ _Half_ decent,” Sherlock picked that part out of your statement, it meant a lot more than it seemed, “You’ve certainly lowered your standards in the last two years.”

“Yes, well, you would know all about that wouldn’t you?” you snapped, turning from the window to glare at the detective.  It had been a stupid idea, getting physically involved with the man, but you couldn’t help yourselves. 

There was an unspeakable connection between the two of you, so different yet so similar, and that formed a tension between you.  One day, only hours after he sat in Buckingham Palace in nothing but a sheet and your lacy underthings were covered by a small silk robe, something just _snapped_ between the two of you.  Next thing you knew he was fucking you on the couch, or whatever surface was closest really, assuming the two of you were alone.  You weren’t sure there was a surface in 221B, outside of John’s room, that _hadn’t_ been sullied by the two of you.

After finding your way to a cheap Italian restaurant, the four of you got a table and Sherlock attempted to explain how he did it, but the two of you only wanted to know why he lied.  He started to explain by saying it was Mycroft’s idea, but that went as well as a fish swimming out of water once you reminded Mary, who simply said Sherlock would have needed a confidant once you and John snapped, that your entire job since you met Sherlock four years ago was telling Mycroft what Sherlock was up to and keeping Sherlock from, well, _dying._   Of course, you also added the little deal which you had with the detective, which certainly didn’t help Sherlock’s position.

Then you found out 25 homeless people knew as well as Molly and this time it was _you_ who launched yourself at Sherlock.  It was a comical scene, seeing you all prettied up just to launch yourself across a table and strangle a man, particularly for Mary who knew you weren’t actually trying to kill Sherlock.

If you were trying to kill Sherlock, you would have done it already instead of settling for giving him a small cut on his lip.

Still, the three of you were kicked out and found yourselves at a restaurant one step above a food cart.  Admittedly it was your favorite, but it was a sorry excuse for a restaurant.  That was where Sherlock asked about the mustache and you couldn’t help yourself.

“Mary likes it,” John defended his mustache.

“No, she doesn’t,” you answered, leaning back against the counter with your long black coat on and your black holding your black clutch in both hands in front of you, “Trust me, she gets awfully honest after a few Bloody Mary’s.”

“Wha…” John looked at Mary, and the second she gave him a sorry smile and shrugged he _knew_ , “Oh this is perfect.  I really missed _this!”_

He actually had, sort of, missed it.  You and Sherlock were a wicked pair, matching and complimenting each other in an odd way.  John didn’t have the heart to tell you, especially considering he only realized it after Sherlock’s supposed death, but there was something about you and the genius that reminded John of himself and Mary.

Of course, that didn’t stop John from getting mad and headbutting Sherlock right in the nose.  You watched as Mary, who promised to talk to John, joined her boyfriend in the cab and drove off.

“Come on, then.  Let’s get you cleaned up so you can talk to the others and it’s back to Baker Street,” you sighed as you turned to walk down the street, “Doubtless there will be others who want to kill you.”

“But not you.”

“I have yet to decide.”

 

**Extended Ending**

Mary was thoroughly enjoying reading John’s blog, he was a gifted writer and captured the dynamic between the three of you perfectly.  It was just so…so… _fantastic._   The friendship between Sherlock and John was so unusual, considering those involved, but it was also like every bromance Mary had ever seen in media or in real life.  Your friendship with John was exactly as she expected, almost familial in that he looked after you like the baby sister he _wanted_ , and you reciprocated by being the more…capable of the two.  Still, the way the two of you would make a comment before bursting into a fit of giggles was adorable. 

The give and take of tension between you and Sherlock was palpable even though Mary’s best experience with it was through John’s blog.  One minute you were best friends piecing together a puzzle or being an immense pain in the ass for your latest target (normally Mycroft), next minute she could swear the two of you were going to start ripping each other’s clothes off.  In fact, she was convinced you had a few times, but John had no clue and, therefore, could not put it in his blog.

By the time she got to the last one she was _hooked_.  She _needed_ to read a new one, though not as much as the three of you needed to get back together.


End file.
